


Kiss and Make it Better

by beef_wonder3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Winchester Family Fluff (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beef_wonder3/pseuds/beef_wonder3
Summary: If it hurts, an ‘I love you’ can make it better.





	Kiss and Make it Better

Mary heard the thump-bump from the living room, knowing what was coming before the unhappy wail filled the air. She dropped the blankets she had been folding and dashed into the next room to see her three-year-old on the floor, clutching his leg as if it was about to drop off.  
  
“Dean, baby, what happened?” Mary asked gently, easing herself to the floor next to him, moving awkwardly around her newly expanding belly. Still sobbing, Dean flung himself into her embrace, trying to speak. Mary managed to decipher the words ‘floor’ and ‘fell’ out of the garbled sentence.  
  
“Shh, its okay, it’s okay.” She soothed, pulling him into her lap, “Tell Mommy where it hurts.”  
Tears subsiding, Dean mewled out pitifully,  
  
“My knee.” Mary nodded sagely and cupped his leg lightly, peering at it intensely for a second before declaring,  
  
“Well, there’s only one way to fix this!”  
  
“How?” asked Dean, watery green eyes wide. Mary smiled and announced,  
“Like this.” And swooped down to plant a firm kiss on the pudgy joint. “There, all better.”  
  
Dean looked down at his knee and back up at his mother again, lines of confusion creasing his tiny forehead,  
“Why does a kiss make it better?”  
  
“Because,” Mary explained as she wrapped him in a cuddle, “A kiss from someone who loves you will always make it hurt a little less.” Dean pondered this a moment, looking at his knee again. When he looked up at Mary again, a blinding smile split his face,  
  
“It does feel better!” he exclaimed with wonder. Mary only grinned back and cuddled him closer.  
  
*  
  
Dean carefully slid the heavy casserole dish into the oven, closing the door after it. The oven mitts drowned his nine-year-old hands but it was better than getting burnt. Satisfied dinner would be ready for when Dad got home; Dean turned his attention to the dirty kitchen. It definitely needed to be cleaned before he started his homework.  
  
Beginning to arrange the plates and pots to be washed, Dean’s head swung around at the sound of heavy objects falling in the apartment’s tiny living room. The yelp of pain that followed sent Dean flying from the kitchen in mere seconds.  
  
“Sammy!” Dean shouted, “Are you okay?”  
Dean found Sammy in the living room, next to the table piled with Dad’s research; the really old and really heavy books Dad had borrowed from Uncle Bobby strewn on the floor next to a guiltily flushed little brother.  
  
“I’m sorry; my book was in Dad’s pile.” Sammy said meekly, and that was when Dean noticed him clutching his hand.  
“That’s okay, Sammy.” Dean said, calmer now there was no threat. “Did you hurt your hand?”  
Sammy nodded, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he held his hand out to Dean,  
“Some of the books fell on it.”  
  
Dean took his brother’s hand subtly feeling for any breaks or tears, just like Dad taught him to. Not finding anything, Dean smiled at his little brother and said,  
  
“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” He brought the hand up and pressed a kiss to Sammy’s palm. “There, all better.”  
  
“How come a kiss always makes a hurt better? Even the kids at school say so.” Sammy asked, inquisitiveness rising again, with the pain forgotten.  
  
“’Cause,” Dean replied, starting to return to the kitchen, “It always hurts less with a kiss from someone who loves you.” Focused on getting the washing up done, Dean left Sammy pondering in the living room.  
  
Sometime later, when Dean was up on the step he had for reaching the sink, his arms elbow-deep in warm soap suds, he felt little arms wrap around his legs from the back, as Sam told the dip behind Dean’s left knee,  
  
“I love you too Dean.”  
  
*  
  
Sam had found recently, that while it wasn’t possible to completely forget about the Apocalypse looming over their heads, it was, however, possible to push it back a little when focused on something else.  
  
The hunt was a good one. Good for several reasons; Small enough town to find the quiet and stay out of overwhelming situations but the town was still big enough to be two strangers walking down the street without getting shifty glares from every local they passed. Simple enough hunt to ease themselves back into it, after Sam’s most recent detox, but still time consuming enough to keep focus.  
  
Both Sam and Dean were involved in the time consuming bit of it. Filing though page after page of crusty, old newspapers, looking for the information they needed. Sam thumbed though another sheaf of papers, hissing out a,  
“Shit. Ow,” When an edge sliced a small cut into his thumb. Dean raised his head at Sam’s whispered exclamation. “Paper-cut,” Sam explained, shaking his hand out at the side. Dean only nodded and reached out to grasp Sam’s shaking hand. He grasped it lightly, pulling it towards him. He planted a quick kiss to the abused thumb and smirked at Sam’s surprised expression.  
  
“There, all better.” Dean announced, letting Sam’s hand go. As Dean smirked at him, he couldn’t help but grin wryly back at his older brother,  
  
“Awesome. How will I ever repay you?”  
  
“Oh, you know,” Dean responded flippantly, turning back to his own papers, “The usual; sacrificial offerings, beer, naming your first-born after me. The usual.”  
  
Still grinning, Sam replied,  
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”  
  
The brothers shared one more grin before focusing on their research again, except this time, the mood lighter than it had been in weeks.  
  
*  
  
“Dean Winchester!”  
  
The shout rang across the yard and the said Dean Winchester froze, one hand still clenched in the t-shirt of the boy that sat behind him in History. He let the boy drop as the teacher strode over, Ryan something-or-other crumpling on the ground in a heap, his smarmy, arrogant face a little less arrogant with nose blood smeared across it.  
  
“With me. Now!” The teacher barked, grasping his arm and marching him towards the school office. He ignored Mr. Matthews’ ranting about violence in his ear in the particularly superior way only a seventeen-year-old could manage.  
  
Arriving into the hub of the high-school office, Mr. Matthews pushed him into a chair and demanded,  
“And just why did Ryan deserve to be beaten like that?”  
  
Indignant anger rose up in him as he snapped back,  
“It was _one_ punch! And nobody talks about Sammy the way he did. Not in front of me.” And really that should be obvious. Everybody in school knew if you messed with one Winchester, you messed with both Winchesters, no matter their age difference.  
  
Mr. Matthews stopped and took a deep breath, obviously remembering the Winchester Code. The older man stayed tight lip but much of his earlier anger had left,  
“I’m still going to have to call your father.”  
  
The teenager shrugged, completely sure that beyond another ‘talk’ about violence as a last resort with civilians, his Dad would back him up 100%.  
  
The teacher turned on his heel towards the desk telephone, stopping to murmur something to the schools receptionist, which sent her out of the room.  
  
The boy huffed as he watched Mr. Matthews dial his Dad’s number. Now Dad was going to have to come to school and pick him up. At least he wasn’t on a hunt.  
He was so intent on flicking the hair out of his eyes and sulking, his wrist aching, he didn’t realize the receptionist had returned until he felt another, smaller, body slump into the seat next to his.  
  
“Oh my God, DJ, you’re such an idiot sometimes.” Sammy announced, still clutching a textbook from class.  
  
DJ scowled at Sam,  
“Shut up, I was defending your honour. You should have heard what Ryan said about you.” DJ also added, slightly under his breath, “Dick.”  
  
Sam rolled her eyes and flipped her dirty-blonde waves back over her shoulder,  
“Of course I heard what he was saying about me. He said it to me after I shot him down.”  
  
DJ looked at his cousin incredulously,  
“He asked you out?!” Sam rolled her eyes again,  
  
“Yeah, on Wednesday; And by the way, please don’t punch Elise Watkins when you hear what she’s saying about me.”  
  
“Elise? The hot red-head I have in my Algebra class?”  
  
“Yep! Apparently she’s not too happy Ryan is hitting on a lowly freshman like me.”  
  
DJ pondered this for a second,  
“Does that mean I can’t ask her out?”  
  
Sam let out a loud laugh,  
“Like you have a shot with that, Geek.”  
  
“Hag.” DJ shot back easily, not offended in the slightest. “Besides,” he went on,” not like I’m gonna get in trouble for hitting the jerk.”  
  
“True,” Sam agreed, “Uncle Sam’s going to give you the ‘violence talk’ again though.”  
  
“Whatever,” DJ said, “If I tell them why I punched him, Uncle Dean would probably want a go at Ryan himself.”  
  
This prompted another eye-roll from Sam but she didn’t disagree, opting to say,  
  
“Whatever you say, Junior.”  
  
DJ rubbed a hand over his wrist again. He hadn’t punched Ryan properly, which really, was poor form on his part.  
  
“Wrist hurt?” Sam asked, noticing his motion.  
  
“A little,” DJ admitted. Sam reached over and laced her fingers with his. The angle was awkward, both being right handed, but she still brought his arm up and placed a dainty kiss on his wrist.  
  
“There, all better.” She said aloud, not needing to voice the accompanying ‘thank you’.  
  
DJ just smiled at her and they sat in silence watching Mr. Matthews wince as he held the phone to his ear, most likely on the receiving end of a verbal dress down from an elder Winchester.  
  
Neither Dean Junior nor Samantha envied the man. Their Dad’s could be really intimidating when they wanted to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving fic from my lj days.


End file.
